


Few and Far Between

by sevenfists



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-08
Updated: 2007-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: In July, they drive the whole length of old Route 66, Chicago to LA. It's something Dean's always wanted to do. He buys a map and spreads it out on the bed one night, while they're eating pizza and watching Leno, and traces his finger along the crooked yellow line.





	Few and Far Between

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_heraea (Team Schmoop). Thanks to mcee and stele3 for beta work.

In July, they drive the whole length of old Route 66, Chicago to LA. It's something Dean's always wanted to do. He buys a map and spreads it out on the bed one night, while they're eating pizza and watching Leno, and traces his finger along the crooked yellow line.

"What's that," Sam says, eating the jalapeño out of the pizza box.

"Route 66," Dean says. "Let's drive it." There are things that need killing, but Dean's giving himself a week off. He's earned it.

Sam gets that sad, big-eyed look he's had so much lately, and Dean inwardly rolls his eyes, bracing himself for the waterworks. But all Sam says is, "We can head out tomorrow. Chicago's just a few hours from here."

"I want turkey jerky," Dean says, testing the limits of Sam's willingness. "And Funyuns."

"Okay," Sam says, willing.

Dean lies awake that night, feeling the thick artery in Sam's belly pulsing under his hand, that life Dean's purchased. He doesn't regret it.

***

It's been a while since he's been in a big city, and Chicago's overwhelming. Dean drives white-knuckled, swearing at the traffic while Sam unrolls the window and actually sticks his head out, staring up at the buildings.

"You look like an asshole," Dean says.

"There's the Sears tower!" Sam says happily, pointing.

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters.

It doesn't take them long to get out of the city, though. Another hour and they're past all the suburbs, out into the open farmland that covers the rest of the state, corn and soy fields spreading endlessly. Sam nods off after a while, his head lolling on his neck and periodically thumping against the window. Dean thinks about putting something unpleasant in his mouth but ends up deciding against it—as long as Sam's asleep, he can listen to his favorite Metallica tape without having to put up with Sam bitching about it.

Dean sings along with James Hetfield, taps his hands on the steering wheel, thinks about life, what it's worth, whether it still counts as a sacrifice if what he's given up is something that didn't belong to him anyway.

Sam wakes up when Dean stops for gas near Springfield, and again for a mid-afternoon pee break on the side of the road, but other than that he sleeps clear through until Dean pulls into the parking lot of a shabby diner, envisioning country-fried steak with green beans for dinner.

"Where are we," Sam says, and yawns. He's all pink-cheeked and sleepy, the side of his face dented red where it was pressed against his balled-up hoodie.

Dean doesn't even pretend that he isn't staring. He wants to remember Sam just like this, take the memory with him when he shuffles off this coil. "Don't know," he says. He really doesn't. They crossed into Missouri a while back, but Dean isn't paying much attention to where he's going.

They have blackberry cobbler for dessert. It's the best thing Dean's ever tasted.

***

Outside Tulsa, they make a detour to see the world's largest totem pole. Dean's always had a fondness for cheesy Americana. He gives Sam the disposable camera he bought at a drug store and makes him take a picture of Dean in front of the totem pole. Dean wants to leave Sam with a record of his life, things to remember him by after he's gone.

"Want one of both of ya?" a woman asks, heavy-set inside her floral muumuu.

"That'd be great," Sam says, and hands her the camera before Dean can protest.

They grin for her, sweat-damp in the summer heat. Sam slings his arm across Dean's shoulders like it's totally normal, like they still remember how to touch each other as brothers.

"Get offa me," Dean says, and shoves at Sam, who just grins and holds on tighter.

***

They go skinny-dipping in Texas. It's about eight billion degrees, and Sam's heat-flushed and sulky the way he gets when he knows he's acting like a five-year-old but can't help himself. Dean knows they'll slaughter each other by the end of the afternoon, the way things are going. So when he sees flowing water through the trees, he turns off onto a back road, drives until he finds a secluded place to park, in the shade of an overhanging weeping willow.

Sam stirs himself from his doze, blinking. "Are we—where the hell are we?"

"Don't know," Dean says, getting out of the car. "Up and at 'em."

The river's running high for this far into the summer, clear and fast. Dean shucks off his shirt and pants, drops his boxers on the bank, splashes into the water until it's deep enough that he can dive in.

When he surfaces, Sam's still standing on the bank, fiddling with the button on his jeans.

Dean rolls his eyes. "For Christ's sake, Sammy, I used to change your diapers. You don't have a thing I ain't seen before."

Sam goes pink. "That's not why."

"Yeah, well, whatever," Dean says, not wanting to hear the real reason. "You wanna act like a big pussy, that's not my problem—"

" _Fine_ ," Sam snaps, and pulls his t-shirt over his head.

Dean ducks under the water, blowing bubbles, and when he comes up again, Sam's waist-deep in the water, his arms crossed over his chest like he still isn't sure what's going on.

"C'mon," Dean says. "It's not that cold."

They stand there and look at each other. Sam drops his arms to his sides, fingers trailing through the water. "Dean—"

"Stop," Dean says. "Just. It's too hot for this."

Sam shrugs. "Okay."

They float on their backs, shoulders bumping from time to time. Sam talks about biology shit that Dean doesn't care about, chlorophyll and cell membranes. Dean squints into the light filtering through the tree branches and thinks that he'd never been happier than this—ten months left to live, and he's never been happier.

***

In Tucumcari, Sam emerges after a shower wearing nothing but his dripping hair. He saunters over to his duffel and starts rifling through it, humming under his breath.

Dean sets down the TV remote and stares.

"You wanna go out for dinner or order in?" Sam asks.

"Sam," Dean croaks.

Sam looks up, his eyebrows raised. "Huh? Do you—" He swallows. "Oh."

"Sammy," Dean says again, his throat full with all the months of longing for this.

Sam hesistates, boxers clutched in one hand. They've been sleeping in the same bed since the Demon, and they kissed once, almost by mistake, in the produce section of the grocery store, Sam jerking away afterward with his ears pink and his mouth wet—but this is new, deliberate, and Dean shivers, thinking about Sam's big hands.

"C'mere," Dean says, scuffing his socked feet against the carpet.

Sam does. He's pink all over now. Dean leans forward to lick Sam's navel, run a hand up the smooth line of Sam's hip, and Sam inhales sharply.

"Jesus," Dean says. "I want to—can I?"

"Yeah," Sam says, "yeah, Dean, _please_ —"

"I wanna lick you everywhere," Dean says, and pulls Sam down onto the bed.

After, Sam kisses every one of Dean's scars, his mouth and hands following the ridge of each one. "I'm gonna save you," he mutters, "she can't have you, I'm gonna—I'll find a way, Dean, I promise, I promise—"

"I know, Sammy," Dean says, one hand tangled in Sam's hair. He's not sure he believes it, but it's kinda nice to hear. "I know you will."

***

Sam's all freshly-fucked and beaming the next morning, chatting with their waitress about his eggs over easy. Dean's ass hurts and he didn't get enough sleep last night, and even the five cups of coffee he drinks at breakfast aren't enough to make him feel more alert.

"I'll drive," Sam says, and Dean just hands over the keys.

He sleeps until Sam stops for lunch somewhere west of Albuquerque. He feels better after that, and they switch places, Sam slouched in the passenger seat reading weird town names off their map—Top of the World, Meteor City, Iyanbito, Show Low.

"Dude, you're makin' that up," Dean says.

"I'm not! It's right here," Sam says, pointing.

"Yeah right, like I can read those goddamn tiny letters," Dean says.

"I guess you'll just have to take my word for it," Sam says. He stretches his arm out along the back of the seat and idly strokes the back of Dean's neck, his fingers teasing at the hairline.

It sends a shiver down Dean's spine and back up. "Quit it," he says.

"Why are you so afraid of this?" Sam asks. He doesn't sound mad, just curious.

"Jesus," Dean mutters. "I'm not _scared_ , okay? It's just."

"It's what," Sam says.

The things Dean wants to say rise in him, unbidden: that he's gonna be dead in ten months, that Sam shouldn't get too attached. He can't say any of it. He chews on the inside of his cheek. "'Cause if you keep that up, I'm gonna have to pull over to the side of the road and fuck you senseless, okay?" he says finally, and risks a glance over at Sam.

"I, uh." Sam licks his lips, wet glide that has Dean staring back at the road, hands tight on the wheel. "I'm more into love-making, Dean."

He's being a smartass, clearly, but Dean takes his eyes off the road long enough to lean over, bite Sam's earlobe, and murmur, "We can do that too."

It's totally worth it to see the look on Sam's face, half nervous and half hopeful.

***

The petrified forest is pretty freaky. What's freakier is how damn excited Sam gets about it.

"The Late Triassic," he says, reading off one of the eight billion brochures he picked up at the visitors' center. "Over 200 million years ago."

"Yeah, whatever. Are we gonna see any T-Rex fossils or what?"

" _Tyrannosaurus rex_ didn't show up until the Jurassic, Dean," Sam says.

"You're a nerd, Samuel," Dean says, but he's happy enough to follow Sam around while he looks at fossilized logs.

The sun's baking down, but it's a beautiful day, clear skies, and Dean looks at the strange desert landscape around them, the multi-colored hills, the deer-like animals grazing in the distance, gazelles or whatever they are. He shoves his hands in his pockets and breathes deep. He feels something expand inside of him, bigger than the entire world.

There's a noise, and Dean turns. Sam's standing there, the camera in his hand, his face creased with something Dean's afraid to name.

"Send that one off to Playgirl," Dean said. "I bet they'd pay you a fortune."

"Sure," Sam says, sticking the camera back in his pocket.

In the gift shop, Sam lingers over hardback coffee table books, plastic models of dinosaurs. While Dean watches, Sam picks up two of the dinosaurs and starts making them fight with each other, plastic scraping against the surface of the display table. It's both incredibly retarded and the most heartbreaking thing Dean's ever seen.

When Sam goes to the bathroom, Dean grabs one of the dinosaurs at random and pays for it, ignoring the weird look the cashier gives him.

He gives the dinosaur to Sam in the car, still wrapped in its paper bag.

"What's this?" Sam asks, opening the bag, and then laughs when he pulls out the dinosaur.

"I dunno, it's a Stegosaurus or something," Dean says.

"It's a Coelophysis," Sam says.

"All look the same to me," Dean says.

Sam sets the dinosaur on the dashboard and grins stupidly at it for the rest of the afternoon. Dean slides on his shades and does his best to act like he doesn't notice when Sam settles one hand on his thigh, but he's grinning, too.

***

In Mohave Valley, Sam presses Dean into the mattress and kisses him until Dean can't do anything but wrap his legs around Sam's waist and hope for the best. Sam fucks him slow and deep, his mouth dragging along Dean's jaw, sucking hard on his throat.

"Dean," Sam gasps, "Dean, Dean, I'm so—you—"

" _Sammy_ ," Dean says helplessly, and comes.

Sam won't stop kissing him, though. He pulls away long enough to toss out the condom, but then he's back, cradling Dean's face in his hands, sucking on Dean's tongue, making little noises in the back of his throat. Dean's mouth feels bruised, ripe, and he clutches at Sam's ass, wanting to hold him close enough that they'll fuse into each other, every part of them turning into one.

They fall asleep tangled together, mouths close enough to share breath.

***

"We can go to the Grand Canyon next summer," Sam says, rifling through bags of sunflower seeds. "Or Yellowstone. Yosemite."

"Yosemite, huh," Dean says. The convenience store smells like coffee and newspapers. It's about fifty degrees cooler than it is outside, and he's kind of worried that the sweat on his forehead will freeze solid and drop off in one sheet.

"We could go camping," Sam says. "I bet Bobby's got an old tent stashed away somewhere."

"Next summer," Dean says.

"Yeah," Sam says. "Maybe the end of August. Most kids are back in school by then, so the crowds aren't as bad. You want those M&Ms?"

Dean looks down at the bag he's holding. "Yeah," he says.

Sam goes up to the counter to pay. Dean goes back out to the car, hands in his pockets, squinting up into the desert light. He takes a deep breath that rattles on its way out, shaking out of him, his fragile body that he wants to keep.

***

In Los Angeles, they eat at an all-night diner on Hollywood Boulevard. The place is populated by drag queens, lesbians, and starving actor types. It's strange to be back in a city after so many days driving through the middle of nowhere. Dean orders a grilled cheese and fries, scrapes the melted cheese off his plate with his fork and eats it.

"You've got cheese," Sam says.

Dean rubs his thumb over the corner of his mouth. "I get it?"

"No," Sam says. "Here." He licks his thumb and reaches out, rubs at a spot below Dean's mouth. His fingers glide easily across Dean's skin until he's cupping Dean's jaw, tilting his face up.

"Sam—" Dean says, unsure.

"Shh," Sam says. He leans over the table and kisses Dean, full-on, tugging at Dean's lower lip with his teeth, slicking his tongue into Dean's mouth. Every time they break apart for air, Sam presses right back in, kissing Dean until there's no resistance left in him, until all he can think about is how he wants more of it, right now, and every day for the rest of his life.

Sam pulls back finally and rests his forehead against Dean's. The drag queens at the next table start clapping. Dean feels the curve of Sam's smile more than sees it.

"I'm gonna save you," Sam says. "I promise. I won't let you leave me."

"I know," Dean says, and sees the conviction in Sam's eyes, and believes him.  



End file.
